Wednesday, April 09, 2008

Gotta Keep Moving

So I've only got a second before I have to get moving again. I'm out of breath, my legs are screaming at me to stop running and, frankly, I'm a bit scared.

As I've mentioned before, I'm on my way to Argentina this year. It's not going to be an easy trip. So I've got to get into better shape. Apparently not having anything remotely close to a metabolism, I've engaged "outside help" in my quest to look something closer to what I was in college. This is also a cautionary tale regarding buying anything on the internet, so beware, fuckers!

While I scoured the 'nets, looking for info on the best way to transform from Orca into something resembling [insert hot celebrity of choice here], I came across an ad for a weight loss program that not only was full of testimonials, but guaranteed success with their "Tier III" program. Yes, guaranteed. According to this site, you had three options:

Tier I: $450 for five days and a loss of 10 pounds

Tier II: $850 for eight days and a loss of 20 pounds.

And Tier III: $1,250 for twenty days and a guaranteed loss of at least 40 pounds.

No surgery. No weird pills, shakes, or diets. Just one phone call and the ball would be rolling. But I'm also a Finance Rock Star and it simply wouldn't do for me to pour that kind of green down the hole on a program I can't say for sure would work. Besides, it could be a scam right?

So I decided on the Tier I program and made the phone call. Questions were asked and answered. Details given. Credit card number revealed. I was "in."

Two days later I received a knock at my door and when I answered it I was greeted by a stunning blonde who joyfully pronounced that she was my trainer for the next five days, at the end of which I'd be at least 10 pounds lighter.

I invited her in.

We exchanged pleasantries for a few moments.

Based on our conversation it seemed obvious some walking or running was going to be involved. I'm not a fan of running, but hey, the way she looked she could ask me to eat the ass out of a dead rhinoceros and I'd have done it.

She finally asked for a place to change into her workout gear. I pointed her to my bedroom and she disappeared while I waited outside. I spent a few moments stretching while she changed.

After a few moments passed, she emerged from my house wearing nothing but a pair of Nike runners and a smile. She gave me a wicked grin as my eyes made lecherous passes over her rock hard, tanned, naked body.

"Now, time for your workout. If you can catch me, you can have me."

And with a burst of speed I haven't seen since the last woman I met online met me in person, she bolted. For five days I tried, but I never caught her.

On the plus side, though, I stepped on the scale the day after our last cat and mouse -about three weeks ago now- and sure enough, I'd lost the promised 10 pounds. Eleven, in fact. I was understandably stoked.

So I called the company again and forked over another chunk of change for the Tier II program. The same numbers, questions, blah blah blah changed hands and I waited for what I could only imagine would be TWO naked girls to chase. I hoped they'd follow the same mentality as one would have when coming across a hungry bear when hiking with a buddy: "I don't have to be faster than the bear, just faster than YOU." I thought my chances were good of getting at least one of them.

The next day found me dressed and ready at the appointed time.

A knock at the door.

I about bounded across the room, pausing only long enough to regain my composure and adopt a cool, collected veneer over my horny perv core before opening the door.

What stood before me wasn't two women, but one of the hands down most amazing looking women I've ever laid eyes on. And she was already wearing nothing but running shoes and a smile. I guess they've grown smart enough to anticipate that some patrons might try to skip the run and go right for the goods during the changing process, so this trainer showed up ready for business.

There's simply no way to describe in words big enough just how hot this woman was. Her long dark hair fell in ringlets about her flawless skin. Men would fight wars over the chance to feel this woman's body. Her full, shapely lips pulled back to reveal white, straight teeth.

"You know the drill. If you can catch me..."

And off she ran, like a gazelle evading a cheetah. Ok, maybe not a cheetah... maybe something closer to a hippo or really out of shape dog. Or Rosie O'Donnel.

For a week I chased that minx and never even got close to catching her. Oh I tried to be charming. Didn't work. I tried faking an injury to get her to come close enough to grab. Nothing. Finally I came to realize that the only way I was going to have a shot at having that body wrapped around this one was to actually catch her. But damn, she was fast, so I never could.

On the plus side, I did, in fact, lose 20 pounds. And I never felt hungry. Never felt excessively worn out. As a matter of fact, aside from a raging case of blueballs, I felt great! So it's no surprise that I ultimately called the company a third time to sign up for the Tier III program.

Questions asked. Answers given. Financial figures exchanged.

For the two days leading up to my third trainer I was beside myself with excitement. I mean, there's no way to top the last trainer I had and frankly, even the first was stunning. My mind seethed with the anticipation of what my third trainer had in store for me. And I was confident that with the training I'd had so far, there was no way she was going to outrun me without a jetpack. Yeah, I was not only going to get a workout now, but I was going to get poon, too!

Then came the ring of the doorbell.

I suddenly became aware of my body launching itself at the door, not caring to appear to be some poon-addled schoolboy.

I yanked the door open, fully prepared to launch myself into a full sprint if she tried to bolt suddenly. I was so amped up on sexual tension and Starbucks that I swear I could have caught the space shuttle if needs be.

The horror cracked me in the face like a hammer.

What stood before me was a lean, muscular, sinewy young man that looked like he could catch the space shuttle without even breaking a sweat. And just like his predecessors, he was naked.

And he had the biggest dick I'd ever ever even heard of. Not that I'm an expert on male genitalia mind you, but I swear he didn't use his hands to ring my doorbell a moment ago. Throw a tarp over it and boy scouts could have camped under there.

His thin, porn star mustache raised as he broke into a lecherous grin of his own. Then his words echoed in my horrified brain.

"Hello. I'm with 'Company X.' For the next three weeks I'll be your trainer. Now get moving, because if I catch you..."

-he leaned in for dramatic effect-

"... your ass is mine."

I'm on day twelve. I've been able to evade Sven the Wonder Schlong so far and I think I'm really losing some serious weight here since even my fillings are getting loose in my teeth, but... oh shit... he's caught his breath! Here he comes again!!!!